The Last to Fall
by focsfyr
Summary: Gojyo POV. A peek into the past shows the start of Gojyo's womanizing ways...and how they began to change with Hakkai's arrival. Some Hakkai&Gojyo romance near the end, mentions of GojyoxOFC, past child & domestic abuse


Title: The Last to Fall  
Part: 1/1  
Author: focsfyr  
Pairing: Gojyo/Hakkai and mentions of Gojyo/OFC  
Warnings: some language, yaoi, mentions of, het, domestic violence and child abuse  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I don't own them and have no money. No copyright infringements are intended.  
Archive: my site other than that, please ask  
C&C: loved

* * *

You ever feel like all the bad shit you try to put behind you follows you around and won't leave you alone? Like the tiger in that story who doesn't realize a burning branch is tied to his tail. He fears the flames, but no matter how hard he runs, when he looks back, that burning brand will still be right behind him.

That's me. No matter how hard I run, not even plunging head first into drinking, gambling an' wenching will put out the flames for long. They rekindle so easily, whenever I'm not looking. So I run off to drown 'em again.

"Gojyo, your hair is really pretty. How do you dye it?"

Bam, spark to the tinder and a whole nights drinking is ruined. Stupid broad. If dye would stay in my hair more than a couple days at a time, why would I pick such a bloody fuckin' red? I'd shave it all off if it didn't grow back so damn quick and draw such attention to the most obvious of my scars.

"Your eyes are wine-red, too."

Once upon a time the person I would do anything to please, the woman I called 'Mother', told me she couldn't look at me without wanting to gouge these hideous red eyes right out of my face.

My forbidden existence, my bastard birth--my father's every transgression was etched into these eyes. Mama said she could rip out every strand of hair on my head and the world would still know I was a worthless, half-breed brat who should've been drowned at birth. She said I shamed her with my existence, that it was my fault she cried and beat me bloody.

My fault were her tears, and that woman I worshipped took payment for each one out of my hide.

I guess I'm lucky it took her almost thirteen years to actually try to kill me. But ya know, even thinking I was about to die, all I wanted was to make Mama happy. I wanted to make her smile.

In the end though, she was the one who died, and I ran away from her corpse with hair like fire streaming out behind me.

I was seventeen and already a lady-killer. I still hated my looks, but I knew that for some reason, girls flocked to me like wolves on the trail of injured prey.

I was young and new in town, but already had a reputation as a gambler with the devil's own luck (though it helped that I was no stranger to creative card shuffling.) But honestly, I think most of the girls just wanted the fun of breaking in a virgin.

How were _they_ supposed to know I lost my cherry years ago to a hooker almost twice my age? Shit, were they in for a shock.

I still think of her, sometime, and the nights we spend romping between her sheets. She may have been much older than me, but I thought the sun rose and fell in her beautiful blue eyes, and her patient creativity was totally without bounds.

But I digress.

I'd been in town for a few months when I met Yumi, a stunning woman with crows-wing black hair, hazel green eyes and the body of a young goddess. She was nineteen years old, and waited tables at one of the local diners.

I began to go there more and more frequently until, after days of exchanging flirtatious glances and inviting smiles, I asked her out to dinner.

After that, the weeks seemed to fly by. I was disgustingly smitten, with stars in my eyes and a perpetual smile on my face. Every time we were together, I thought my heart would burst with joy. When she smiled, I couldn't stop myself from grinning like an idiot.

Every moment we had free, we spent together, and if others made jokes, we didn't hear them.

I was in heaven, sharing an apartment and a bed with a girl I loved more than anything. There was nothing I could deny her, and nothing I wouldn't do for her. All she had to do was ask. She had me thoroughly wrapped around her lovely little fingers.

A month or so after I moved in with Yumi, she came home from work practically radiating fury. She stormed over to where I was sitting on her couch and landed an ear-ringing slap across my cheek. The heel of her hand caught me square in the jaw, and for a moment, I was sent reeling.

My hand flew up to cradle my cheek as her own retreated back to her side. I could feel the bruise forming already, and I just stared in shock as she started screaming.

"I saw you!" she screeched, "I _saw_ how you were looking at that girl!" Tears pooled in her eyes, but her tirade continued. Her voice just got louder as she called me a traitor, a slut and a heartless, selfish bastard. Didn't I love her any more? How _could_ I go looking at other girls when she had already given me her heart? Wasn't she good enough for me?

Halfway through the accusations, her tears turned into sobs, and my heart just about broke. I hugged her close, told her I loved her more than anything. I begged her to stop crying because I was so very, very sorry and I hadn't meant to hurt her. I didn't mean to look. I told her that she was everything to me and it wouldn't happen again.

I apologized over and over again, until her tears finally ceased.

I never could stand to see someone I loved cry.

We fell asleep in each other's arms that night, and I promised myself that I'd make her happy. I never wanted to hurt her ever again.

Days passed into weeks, and everything ran smoothly. There were the occasional squabbles and fights, of course, but they always dissolved into nothing once I apologized to her.

How could I not? Yumi was the sun in my darkness. I hated to see her brilliance dimmed by tears. If a simple "I'm sorry" or "I was wrong" made her happy, I would give it to her freely. It didn't matter if I had actually done what she said. I didn't care whether or not the fault was truly mine. The whole incident would be forgiven and forgotten once I accepted the blame.

The situation escalated so very slowly I never noticed it happening. I never saw her accusations grow wilder, more possessive. I never questioned the restrictions she imposed, or argued that I wasn't in the wrong. If she screamed and cried, I loved and comforted her. To me, Yumi was perfect, and I was just a bastard curse of a half-breed.

Then one day, realization of her emotional manipulation crashed into me...in the form of the plate she threw at my head.

Splintered shards of pottery drove into my scalp, turning my hair a _true_ blood-red. I looked up at Yumi and saw my mother, eyes streaming tears, ready to beat me half to death for something I didn't do.

But this time, I wasn't just a lonely, helpless child. This time, I could leave.

Experience had taught me that I could survive the world on my own, and that I had nothing to lose except another woman I loved.

Still, it was no easier to leave Yumi than it had been to leave my mother.

I got up, threw my clothes in a bag and, with feigned calmness, told Yumi I was leaving.

For a moment, the world twisted and our roles were reversed. Suddenly it was Yumi apologizing to _me_ and begging me to stay. Worlds of love fell from her lips as easily as any lie, and the cascade of tears which had yet to fail her followed them.

My resolve wavering dangerously, I turned away from her pleas and walked out her door, fingers already pulling ceramic splinters from my skin.

Her curses followed me all the way out to the street.

And so it was that I learned how to fuck instead of make love. How to give my favors without giving myself.

It's a lesson that's served me well over the years. I've fucked a lot of women, been fucked by plenty of men. (I mean, why draw a line between fucking men and women? It's just another kind of pleasure.) It worked. They got a tiny, fickle portion of me and I... I kept the rest.

No one ever noticed, and if they did, they didn't question it, just took what was offered and ignored the rest.

But eventually the question _did_ get asked, and by none other than my best--and only, really--friend. Hakkai's one of a kind in my book, and the only one I've ever given all of myself to. 'Course, I haven't slept with him, despite the fact that I've wanted to. Our relationship is too important for me to ruin for a single night of sex, and his heart's already taken by another, so it couldn't possibly be _more_.

He asked why I went through girls faster 'n I went through booze, asked me what I was so scared of.

I couldn't answer. Instead I said some things I know I shouldn't have. Cruel, hurtful things in a twisted form of self-defense.

For a second I thought he was gonna hit me, give me the back of his hand right across my face. Instead, he gritted his teeth in a rare show of anger and said he was going for a walk. Hakkai was out for 'bout an hour, returning calm and composed, though his smile was a little strained.

Then he apologized for asking so personal a question and went about his day as though nothing had happened. He guided me to bed and tucked me in when I stumbled home after a hard nights gambling and a few too many drinks. He made breakfast in the morning, with a side of painkillers for my hangover. He smiled and chided me for getting so drunk, then went to the market to buy food for dinner.

After a few days of this little charade, my nerves were singing with tension, my body wound tight as a spring. Bloody red eyes tracked every move Hakkai made, and I could barely even fake a shadow of a grin.

The tension was killing me.

I went outside for a smoke and tried to unwind. This was _Hakkai_, not some psycho bitch. I'd known him for years--I'd saved his _life_!

I almost jumped out of my skin when a hand came out of nowhere and landed on my shoulder. I turned and found myself transfixed, neatly as a beetle pinned to a card, by my best friend's forest green eyes.

'What's wrong?' they asked, 'Why are you so tense?'

"I'm not used to waiting this long." I cursed the words as they fell from my mouth and knew there was no getting out of it, now.

Hakkai looked surprised. "Waiting for what, Gojyo?"

"To get hit," I whispered. My eyes fell from his in shame. There it was, my big secret. Out in the open with the one person whose opinion I really cared about.

The silence wound me even tighter as I felt the emotional storm front approach. It was only a matter of time until its fury would break across my back.

I actually flinched as I felt his hand draw near to my neck.

Better than anyone, I knew how impossible it was for me to strike out against someone I cared for. That's always been the crux of the problem, so all I could do was wait, take it, and see to the injuries later.

Hakkai's calloused fingers tipped my chin upwards and I reluctantly met his gaze.

There was no pity in his striking green eyes, nor was there sympathy or compassion. There _was_ a look of profound and deep regret...and understanding.

That look surged from his unshielded eyes and took all that I was in a loving embrace. People call eyes the windows to a soul, and Hakkai usually had cheerfully colored storm-shutters up. Now the shutters had been opened, and the warmth that shone through was unrivaled by anything I'd seen. Softly, it cradled and soothed the still seeping wounds in my soul with a far gentler hand that I'd ever dared dream existed.

"I love you." The truth of his statement was irrefutable in its strength. "I love you, Gojyo, and no matter how angry I may be, nothing could ever make me hurt you."

He smiled at me sadly. "I never _could_ bear to hurt someone I loved."

That night, for the first time in five years, I made love. And not _to_ the man I embraced, but _with_ him.

Before you ask, yes, the fear is still there. But it's getting worn away, ever so slowly, as time passes and our love strengthens.

Maybe someday I'll finally be able to completely cut the strings and leave my past lying in the dust. But until then, even though I intellectually know that Hakkai would never willingly hurt me, it still feels like I'm just waiting for the dream to crack and the next blow to fall.

OWARI


End file.
